Little Soldier Boy
by Dittolicous
Summary: Songfic. No one would look and think he was Bruce Wayne, no one would see Batman. No. All they would see was a father. A broken father, who wept and longed for his son.


Title: Little Soldier Boy

Author: Ditto

Song: Leaves from the Vine by Uncle Iroh(Avatar the Last Airbender)

Characters: Bruce, Jason

Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy

http:/ you tube . com/ watch?v=NFASos1G-5U

* * *

_Little Soldier Boy_

* * *

He sat in front of an empty grave.

It marked not a person, but a memory.

Memory of a life lost.

In more ways then one.

Along with that…

It stood for his failure.

Jacket wrapped tight, head held low, he ran a pale hand through his coal hair. The winds whispered around him like song barely sung. It brushed his hair, tickling his face cause him to shiver lightly in an attempt to hold in warmth.

A warm fog left his lips.

* * *

_Happy birthday, my son._

* * *

December 20th.

That day again.

A deep voice spoke, almost unsure of the words.

"You're not here..."

He stopped.

He never was… would he ever?

Shoulders stiff, he continued.

If only I could have helped you…

"Happy 20th. You're getting old."

He laughed but it was somber and brittle.

"You'd probably punch me… or something… if I said that to you."

A small intake of breath.

"I shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be here." Fists clenched. "But it is and you're not. Usually… that'd be a good thing. Yet it's not… "

He licked his lips.

"You're not dead. But yet…"

…

"You are."

Tree's bent and wept against the lament of wind, with branches bare as stone.

He rustled, pulling out a small, torn piece of paper.

"Who you were is dead."

* * *

_Leaves from the vine_

* * *

A boy smiled up at him. He could only be 11 or 12. Hair dark as his own, but eyes of dull blue stared. His face seemed gaunt and pale but his large smirk seemed so radiant. Beside the boy, he stood, hand planted firmly on the childes shoulders..

It was one rare moment when his own smile was real.

"I let you die."

A blotch appeared.

"I'm a crappy father, aren't I? I should have tried harder, stayed up longer, searched longer… then maybe I would have made it."

A vision passed though his mind.

Broken and bloody.

So still…

How could that be… he was so lively… it couldn't be him.

It couldn't be…

It shouldn't be…

It was.

* * *

_Falling so slow_

* * *

Gulping down his shudder, he tried to shake the vision away.

"I failed you, son. But you know that."

His voice rang clear through his head.

_'Bruce, I forgive you… for not saving me.'_

"But you shouldn't of… You never should." His throat seemed to close in. "I let you down… I took you with egg shell promises and got you killed. I wasn't good enough. I was strong enough."

The picture crumbled in his fist.

"I don't think I ever will be."

* * *

_Like fragile, tiny shells_

* * *

"I thought I could do you good. I thought I could help you."

The cold stone gleamed slightly in the moonlight, mocking the man.

"I wasn't the father you needed. I wanted to be… But I wasn't, but I'm not."

He shivered again, his jacket doing nothing to shield him from the crisp winds. "God… it should have been me."

Blood soaked into the picture from his tightly clenched fist.

"I was the one he wanted, I was the one that caused him all his pain."

Bloodcurdling laughter rang in his ears.

"My first great failure… and my second greatest failure…"

* * *

Drifting in the foam

* * *

"My son… my son…"

He bit his lip.

"You came back to me… I should be happy… But how can I? It doesn't changed what has happened… and it won't bring you, the real you, the bright boy I once saw in your future, back to me. I failed that boy and he's gone."

The silence pierced him.

"But you won't ever stop being my son, no matter what."

An owl hooted, echoing.

"There's not much I can promise you but that, that I can. Because… you're my boy… You and Dick and Tim… I don't care what you say, none of you replace the other. You're all my sons, you all means something different…"

* * *

_Little soldier boy_

* * *

"Something special…"

* * *

_Come marching home_

* * *

"Dick cried, you know."

By now, the male had lost all feeling in his fingers and face.

But he could taste the salt that slipped to his lips.

"He's not much of a crier, despite his 'touchy, feely ways' as you say. But when I told him about you… He broke down, right there and then. He loved you, despite all your arguments and bruises."

His breath shuddered.

"You were, are his brother. And he is yours."

In the back of his mind, he heard them argue, just like they used to.

"God… I thought I was going to lose him too, between what happened to you and Barbara. He looked so lost. So broken. I guess he was just reliving his childhood too…"

He pictured his son, staring out the window of his room at the manor. Eyes sunken in, unreadable expression. He spoke.

_'How can he be gone?'_

_'…'_

_'Why can't we ever protect the ones we love?'_

_'I don't know…'_

"Just that little boy again, who watches as the ropes that bind his family fall to pieces."

* * *

_Brave soldier boy_

* * *

"Just a little, lost boy…"

He shook, his shoulders heaving slightly.

Big wet drops hit the cold and crusty ground.

He choked.

"He loved you…"

Silent sobs wracked him.

"I loved you…"

He shed bitter tears, sliding slowly down his face.

"No…"

He looked squarely at the grave marker.

"I love you, my son."

One hand covered his face.

"You will never be that boy. He's dead. But you will always be my son…Always. And even if it kills me…"

He bit make a sob.

"I will always and forever love you, Jason."

Finally, he cracked, his mask finally shattering away. Moans and sobs left him. No one would look and think he was Bruce Wayne, no one would see Batman.

No.

All they would see was a father.

A broken father, who wept and longed for his son.

"Jason… I love you… Please…"

He took in shallow breaths, heaving.

"Where ever you are, who ever you are…. Please…come home…"

The old and moldy leaves rustled around him as he stood, his striking blue eyes blood shot and wet, a steady stream of tears sliding down his cheeks.

He looked at the picture again.

Blood stained over the you boys face.

He clenched it back in hand before stuffing it into his pocket. Slowly he turned, walking away from his mark of failure. He shot once sorrowful look back.

His voice wafted through the dank air.

"Come home, Jason."

* * *

_Comes marching home_

* * *

"Come home…son."


End file.
